


The Mockingbird And The Wolf

by casstayinmyass



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Cheesy, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Fantasy, I'm Sorry, Lots Of Bad Fingering Jokes, Romance, Season/Series 03, Sexual Fantasy, Swearing, This Is How I Destress During Exams, Vaginal Sex, what the fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-12 00:07:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7076302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day at a Small Council meeting, Petyr senses Sansa and pursues her for his darkest desire...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mockingbird And The Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah. I had caffeine. I don't do well with caffeine.

Lord Petyr Bae sat atop his chair at his lovely, expensive desk in his most popular whorehouse, imagining said chair was the Iron Throne.

"State your problem," he spoke to no one, and pretended to listen. "I see... I will have my Kingsguard tend to this squabble immediately. Your homeland will see its justice as long as _I_ am King of Westeros."

"Who are you talking to, mi'lord?" a blonde call girl asked, walking through the room on her way to tend to a new customer.

"Do I employ you to speak?" Lord Baelicious asked pointedly, and the girl frowned, scurrying off to her paying master. The sad, hopeful man looked at a clock that he had crafted out of... actually, he hadn't crafted it, because he was rich as fuck and didn't have to, but he looked at it, notwithstanding, and saw that he was late to a Small Council meeting in the court.

"Seven hells," he muttered, "He'll have my head!"

Jumping on his sparkly blue tricycle, Petyr Babe adjusted his mockingbird pin proudly, and set off to the castle, clearing a path for himself through the hoards of horny men that excitedly flocked to his successfully owned establishment.

Up in the court, Varys sighed as he regarded the time as well. "I'm sure the Master of Coin won't be much longer," he reassured Joffuckry Bitchratheon, who was storming about childishly (nothing had changed).

"I'll have his head!" the boy-king shouted, his angry voice echoing off the walls, and Tywin grimaced, watching the little shit pace around.

"Will you sit _down_?" the Hand muttered, and Joffuckindouche whipped around to him, his expression a mixture of mania and fury.

"I'll... I'll have your head!" he simply sputtered, and got up in his grandfather's face. Suddenly, between the great showdown of Lions, the door clanged open, and in bowed Littlefinger, shutting the heavy door behind him.

"Unusual for you to be tardy, Lord Baelish," Varys smirked, turning to him haughtily, "What caught you up this time, may I ask?"

"Perhaps he was busy _littlefingering_ someone," Grand Maester Pycelle chuckled, but no one else laughed, because fuck Grand Maester Pycelle.

"I was tending to some business," Petyr nodded, taking his seat hastily, not before bowing before the King once more to apologize.

"While I'm sure we would all like to waste our days hearing of it, I have a Small Council meeting to ignore," Joffuckoff snapped, and everyone was silent. Just as things were beginning to get good, Lord Baebae's ears perked up. His nose twitched. He could sense her... walking near... _Sansa_.

"Forgive me, but I must take my leave, your Grace," Petyr said, bowing his head in farewell as he stood. Varys stared up at him questioningly, and even Tywin, indifferent fellow as he is, seemed a little confused.

"Where are you going _now_?!" the King whined, but Littlefinger just twirled his beautiful moustache and pranced off to follow his one true love.....'s daughter.

"Littlefinger," Varys shrugged, turning back to the table, "Simply can't be trusted."

"Tell us something we don't know," Tywin muttered, rolling his eyes.

Meanwhile, in the streets of King's Landing by the water, Petyr chased after the beautifully fair and fairly beautiful Sansa Stark; there she was, gliding along the cobble in a lovely blue dress. Clearing his throat, Petyr snaked his way beside her, startling the young wolf.

"Lemon cake?" he asked, producing a lemon cake from his moustache because his moustache was fucking magic. Sansa blushed quietly.

"They're my favorite! How did you know?"

"I know things," Littlefinger said in a foreboding yet oddly sexy voice, trailing his little finger- hahahaha- down her back, and Sansa accepted the small cake gratefully.

"I haven't eaten all day," she admitted with a tiny smile, and Petyr hummed, watching her shove the entire cake into her mouth gracefully.

"With me, you can have all the lemon cakes you want, all day, all night."

"Pardon?"

"Nothing," Petyr said wistfully, gazing at her with moons and stars and all that shit in his dark eyes. "You're looking quite nice today, Lady Sansa."

"Oh goodness," Sansa continued to blush, the blush spreading down to her kneecaps, "Lord Baelish, you flatter me."

"Call me Petyr," he murmured sensually, trailing his lips up her pale neck creepily. Sansa stared down at him, blinking.

"What are you doing, sir?"

"Appreciating your _beauty_ ," Petyr whispered against her jaw line, breathing in her scent of perfumed mintleaves and jasmine tea and twinkies and all that good stuff that smells like a pretty lady.

"Lord Bae- I mean... Petyr," Sansa said darkly, eyes flitting to the ground, "I'm not that kind of girl..."

"And what kind of girl might that be?" he hissed back, pulling her hair away from her ear and nibbling on her earlobe. Sansa swatted him away.

"We're in public, sir... people are watching!"

"Let them watch..."

"Gods be good, Lord Baelish, you're the Master of Coin! I'm the daughter of Catelyn and Ned Stark."

"Who would protest the union of a mockingbird and a wolf... be it even for one night?" Petyr mumbled.

"Such a union would end rough," Sansa whispered back, a playful smile spreading across her lips, "A wolf always ends up on top." She reached out to graze the mockingbird pin upon his chest, and his eyes flew to it. He hated when people touched it, he literally wanted to murder whoever touched his precious pin, but it was Sansa, so it was mildly okay.

"Hon hon hon!" Petyr chuckled like a French baker because his facial hair already looked a little French, and scooped up the delightful redhead in his arms (even though she was bigger than him), and swung on a rope all the way through King's Landing back to the castle. There was a rope, okay, and Petyr fucking used it.

Once they had made it back to the castle, Petyr spotted Tyrion. Gulping, he hid Sansa behind a pillar.

"Ah! Littlefinger- flighty today, are we?" the Lannister asked, quirking an eyebrow, "Heard all about it from my piece of shit nephew. I hope you spent your day significantly more productively than I did."

Petyr's beady eyes flew nervously around the throne room.

"Yes... I've rather been enjoying it."

"Splendid... I'm off to drink away the evening with a special someone and Bronn... care to join us and enjoy your day some more?"

"Forgive me, but I'm quite indisposed at the moment, my lord," Petyr said, "I have some matters to attend to... I must... polish the throne."

"Mmm, yes. Needs a good polishing. Very well." Petyr smiled a sly Grinch-esque smile, because he was an amazing liar. Once he made sure they were alone, he beckoned Sansa out, and the two ran over to the great Iron Throne.

"Magnificent," Petyr whispered, and Sansa grinned.

"Oh, my lord, you're too kind-"

"I was talking about the throne," Petyr said in reverie, stroking the sullied blades. Sansa frowned a little.

"Um... Lord Baelish?"

"Yes! Yes, sorry, my dear..." He grabbed her hand, and drew her close. "Didn't I tell you to call me Petyr?" With that, he clutched her face, and smashed their wet, gooey lips together in a soft, deep kiss of endlessly passionate foreverness as stars blossomed around them and angels seemed to sing. Soon, the slow hums of their satisfaction became urgent moans, and Littlefinger tore open Sansa's dress with his teeth.

"I... I liked that dress," Sansa said sadly, shedding a single tear, but Petyr wiped it up with his moustache.

"Do not fret, my tulip... I shall buy you a new one... a _better_ one."

"But I liked that one."

"You'll look better in the one I buy you, trust me."

"No, but-"

"Oh, will you desist?! I'm about to make passionate, unforgettable love to you!"

Sansa shut up, and let Petyr disrobe her further.

"You could have been my child..." he said, moaning as his head rolled back, and Sansa frowned. "...I could have been your father if my love had been returned."

"Um..."

"But that is not the world in which we live," he continued, "In this world... I can do as I please with you, because it's not incest. It's just almost incest. But not."

"Uh..."

"Shhh... be patient, sweet bird," Petyr hushed, eyes roaming her body, "I know you want me, but patience is a virtue of the gentle lover." Sansa sighed in a misty cloud of lustful lust. As she unlatched his robes, she trailed her mouth down his body, but paused her lips halfway down his heaving chest.

"Isn't this just a _little_ bit creepy?"  

"Yes," Petyr replied, and with a battle cry, tackled her onto the fluffy double mattress below the luxurious golden bedspread of- wait, they were in the throne room, weren't they? Well... if anyone tried to have sex on the Iron Throne, they would end up either taking a sword point up the vagina or breaking their spine, so let's just imagine someone wheeled a nice, fluffy bed in. It was probably Varys who did it.

Yeah. Spider ships it.

Anyway...

"Make love to me, Littlefinger!" Sansa cried loudly, and Petyr covered her mouth with his own, silencing the innocent young flower that he was about to... deflower.

"Hush now... there are eyes everywhere."

"That's... kind of hot," Sansa smiled, and the two rolled over, laughing together as Petyr finally entered the sweet, welcoming warmth of the virginal Stark girl that he had dreamt of numerous nights and bathtimes. Yes, Littlefinger loved taking baths.

"Please... more! More!" Sansa cried, and Littlefinger frowned down at her. He had barely moved, but she seemed to be having some sort of premature orgasm already, so who was he to argue with a good thing? He decided to see what would happen if he moved his hips _just_ a little deeper-

"FUCK YEAH! OH, PETYR, YES, OH GOD, YEAH, RIGHT THERE, I'M A DIRTY WHORE FOR YOUR BIG WANKER, YOU SEXY STALLION, YOU!"

Petyr's eyes widened, and he pulled out a little, glancing down at her in worry. Off in the distance, a flock of birds flew off at the disturbance. Cersei's resting bitchface cleared for a second as she inclined to hear from her chambers, and Ned Stark's head also turned in shock upon its spike at his honorable daughter's foray into the dark temptations of a snake's clutches.

"I'm... so s-sorry, Lord Baelish," Sansa blushed again, her entire body turning fuchsia, "How terribly blunt that was... I don't know what came over me. Can you ever forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive, my dove," the Master of Coin grinned, "You are making me fall deeper and deeper for you with every second word." He snapped his hips once more. With sparkly rainbows and sunshine and pure love exploding around the two, both finished in each other's arms, breathing against each other in one, interwoven basket of love and devotion and sweat.

"Mmm, Lord Baelish," Sansa smiled, "Are we to be married now?"

"HAHA," Petyr blurted, then dropped his smile. "No, sweet child. We are to continue seeing each other in private like this, because it is sexier and darker and more sexually stimulating that way if it is risky. If we get married, we'll start hating each other and I'll push you from a skyhole or a cliff or some shit. I am, after all, the most dangerous man in Westeros."

"That's fine. I'll just marry someone younger, and pretend to love them while secretly seeing you," Sansa said, and Petyr kissed her again with fervor.

"Never in my lifetime will I abandon you, sweetling. I'm here for you... just as a _father_ would be."

"Right, getting creepy again."

"Yes, that was a little creepy. I must leave now... but know this. You were the best I've ever had!" he shouted as he zipped up his frock thingie and pranced back out the doors of the court, leaving Sansa naked in the bed. Varys, who was filming the whole thing on a camera shaped like a bird, came to wheel the bed back to wherever it came from, shaking his head. (Little did everyone know, he was running an underground porn hub under the name of " _masterofwhispaaasno69_ ")- if he couldn't enjoy sex, he could at least provide it for others. 

Outside, Petyr got on his tricycle, feeling like a new man, and waved to everyone who went by. As he was riding, he noticed Grand Maester Pycelle following beside him on a big unicycle.

"Did you just sleep with King Joffrey's old girlfriend? No! No, that is... off limits, that is... against the rules of feminism!" But Littlefinger didn't listen to Grand Maester Pycelle, because fuck Grand Maester Pycelle.

_And they all lived happily ever after!!!_

(Except for Stannis Baratheon, because nobody likes that guy except for that awesome crab fishing sailor.)


End file.
